A personal story has
the tendency of
turning something
mediocre
into a poignant
masterpiece.

I sneer at this practice,
As if your shitty childhood
made you a poet.
As if death immortalized words.

the audience is
a tragedy monger.
Feed
your drunkenness to
its gnashing teeth.
live that life of abandon
that can easily be
adapted to film.
But for fuck’s sakes
don’t write anything worthwhile.

I’d rather hear you suffered
than experience the
lily of the valley
through your crystal
mouth.

I’d rather feel cool
‘cus I’m hip
to your climbs of soot
and ceiling harmonica days.
Rather mimic that
Cowboy Syndrome and

Trapeze through the
Wire walking women
Tassel milking women
Apron wearing women
and abandon the children

So they too
can be great poets!

Breed me an army of
shitty men
let them be
intoxicated by
their own stench
that they never know
their breath of sewer
is anything but
the sweetest ambrosia

because they’ve stewed in its depth
and simply know
no better

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s